


Second Chances

by tea_leaf_reader



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: But there's no actual death so don't worry, Mention of Death, Mild Blood, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_leaf_reader/pseuds/tea_leaf_reader
Summary: If only she'd known that having her wings snipped off would be like death itself.





	Second Chances

So, this was death – perhaps if Wirt had still been there, he would have murmured about the poetic injustice of it all, the frailty of life snuffed out like a mere candle that had burned too brightly, a final dance of ice and fire accumulating into something  _more_ , something transcendent.

But Wirt was not there, and neither was Greg, because they had left her, too.

Everything was growing darker, somehow, and colder.

All she understood was pain. Sharp, almost dazzlingly so, shards of glass embedded into her very being as she peered up at the waning moon with bloodshot irises. Crimson pooled from her mutilated wings, staining the snow red, and she realized in that moment that she should have asked the Woodsman to break her neck when it became apparent that Adelaide’s scissors were a fluke. Fabric scissors, nothing special, nothing sensational.

No matter, though, it was too late now.

Beatrice was dying.

Oh, how she wished she could have told her family how foolish she had been, how sorry she was, how much she wanted to mend her mistakes before she–

And then there was burning.

Hot, ragged, a thousand suns coursing through her veins, threatening to spill over and devour the oncoming darkness whole. She convulsed, screaming, body twitching and twirling and tensing up in a vague attempt at mollifying the inferno raging on inside.

Her bones and flesh broke again and again and again, hollow fragments solidifying as her form twisted, a redwood tree sprouting upwards in a matter of minutes.

Agony – endless, eternal agony – and she deserved it.

But as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and Beatrice allowed a whoosh of winter air to occupy the lungs she was certain had collapsed amidst the transformation.

There were fingers, not feathers, and a nose, not a beak, and if one would have listened closely, they would have heard the crying of a young woman hanging on the wind that night.

She was going to fix things.

Beatrice was going home.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this one-shot was basically done as a testament to my belief that Beatrice's transformation back into a human wasn't necessarily a family-friendly affair, but rather a messy, Grimm-style event with a lot of blood and mutilation involved. Anyways, enjoy this little tale until I'm able to return in 2018 with some more stories to tell.


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